The Uncrowned Kings of England: The Black Legend of the Dudleys Read online

  The campaign of 1545 was a baptism of fire for the new Tudor navy. From reports of the various actions that took place we can gauge some of the improvements and innovations Henry and his Lord Admiral had been putting in place. They had not been slow to learn from the French. They had experimented with galleys (sometimes called ‘galleases’ or ‘galliots’), propelled by both sails and oars. They had begun the development of naval artillery by commissioning iron cannon which could be ranged along a warship’s sides and not just located in the bow (the Mary Rose, for example, carried ninety-six guns). They had induced leading French cartographers and hydrographers to cross the Channel. And, in order to provide the navy with a kind of auxiliary wing, they had introduced the system of letters of marque. These authorized the masters of merchant vessels to attack and plunder the ships of enemy nations. This legalized piracy immediately proved popular with the bolder captains and it played a significant part in securing England’s mastery of the Narrow Seas. English vessels, prowling singly or in packs, preyed not only on French merchantmen, but also on those of Spain and the Netherlands, on the dubious grounds that the emperor’s neutrality was, in fact, helping England’s enemy. When foreign ambassadors protested the Admiralty court usually turned deaf ears to their complaints or ensured that judicial proceedings dragged on for months or years. Audacious raids culminated in March 1545 in Robert Reneger’s capture of the Spanish San Salvador, inward-bound from the Americas with £4,300 in gold bullion. The king’s Council managed to reach the conclusion that no law had been broken and Henry pocketed a sizeable proportion of the loot, which his government desperately needed. The activities we usually associate with Elizabeth’s ‘sea dogs’ became common practice during the years that John Dudley was in charge of maritime affairs.

  Dudley’s patrols reported that his French opposite number, Claude d’Annebaut, had gathered groups of ships totalling somewhere between 160 and 300 in the harbours of Le Havre, Harfleur and Honfleur in readiness to embark the army. The existence of this formidable force lent substance to the rumours of a major invasion attempt. There seemed no point in waiting until Francis was ready to make his move. Dudley decided on a pre-emptive strike. With his best warships he made a sally into the Seine estuary, his objective being to inflict as much damage as possible on the enemy fleet. With this in mind, he set aside the usual tactic of grappling and boarding. He determined instead to remain in the deep water channel and use his artillery to best effect on the stationary shipping. Whether this plan would have worked he never discovered. The wind changed before he could come in range and he was obliged to break off the attack for fear of being driven into shoal water. He had to content himself with a skirmish between Alderney and Guernsey in which he sank several French galleys.

  The best result of this action was that it stung d’Annebaut into retaliation. The French strategy had been, not the invasion of England, but the retaking of Boulogne. A land army was already advancing on the port and was to be heavily reinforced by sea. Now, however, the French admiral decided to strike at Dudley’s fleet, the greater part of which was anchored at Portsmouth. The approach of 200 enemy sail served to reinforce the worst English fears. Armies were drawn up in Essex, Kent and Devon while Seymour commanded another on the Scottish border. Prayers were said in all churches and the king personally toured the southern counties to inspect the defences. He was actually in Portsmouth on 19 July when news arrived that d’Annebaut was in the Solent. With many other concerns on his mind, Dudley cannot have been entirely enthusiastic about entertaining his sovereign aboard the flagship, Henri Grace à Dieu. In fact, the dinner he hosted in the great cabin had to be brought to a hasty conclusion in order to convey the king safely ashore and prepare the vessel for battle.

  In the event there was no real battle at all. The French made sporadic landings on the Isle of Wight, which were easily repulsed. Then, while Dudley’s ships were confined at anchor by an onshore breeze, d’Annebaut sent a squadron of galleys to attack them. Fortuitously, the wind changed and Dudley was able to order his fleet to sea to engage the enemy. It was while turning into the wind with her gunports open in readiness that the Mary Rose heeled over and sank with the loss of Sir George Carew and 500 of his men. Lessons still had to be learned about the balancing of fire power and manoeuvrability. The disaster was a severe blow to the morale of Dudley’s crews and to Henry who was among the crowd watching from the shore, but its actual significance at the time was not as great as its place in naval legend might suggest. Accidents of this magnitude were not uncommon. D’Annebaut had experienced a similar setback only days before when his flagship, the 800-ton Caraquon, had been completely burned out at anchor as a result of negligence. Dudley only paused to order a salvage crew to set to work on the sunken vessel before wearing out of the harbour to confront the foe. But the Spithead ‘action’ turned out to be a mirror image of Dudley’s attack on the French fleet three weeks earlier. D’Annebaut drew his force off and made a few desultory sorties on the Sussex coast before crossing to Boulogne to land the 7,000 men for whom Francis was impatiently waiting.

  There was now a pause, while Dudley took counsel with the king and his advisers. He was in a defensive posture and the initiative lay with the enemy. Until he could be sure what the French admiral planned he could not devise his counter-tactics. Not until 15 August did he get to grips with the opposing fleet. The engagement which followed off the Kent coast may be regarded as the first modern sea battle in history, inconclusive though it was. Both admirals drew their fleets up in formation (a departure from the traditional proceeding by which, because of the difficulties of communication, ships’ captains had acted largely autonomously) and manoeuvred for position. D’Annebaut, whose force outnumbered the English two to one, gained the early advantage and he despatched his galleys. Then Dudley’s warships grabbed the opportunity of a shifting wind to bear down on the oared vessels, which were forced to withdraw. The conflict now became a gun battle but neither side had done much damage to the other before night fell and the French used the darkness to retire to the safety of their own coast. The campaign was, to all intents and purposes, over and its termination was due more to circumstances beyond human control than to any decisive military advantage. Fickle Channel winds had prevented the fleets from grappling and plague now forced both admirals to downsize their crews and decommission ships. Henry ordered a reprisal raid against the French coast and, on 2 September, Dudley crossed to Normandy and put the small harbour town of Treport to fire and sword. Thereafter, he was obliged to allow impressed fishermen to return home and resume their livelihood.

  Dudley had quitted himself well. His involvement in military affairs in three eventful years had shown him to be an industrious, intelligent and resourceful commander. His name was not associated with spectacular victories by land or sea but he had done all that was required of him and more. He had earned the king’s esteem and made his mark in the life of the nation. Above all others John Dudley was seen as the man who had saved England from invasion.

  On 24 August Henry had suffered a serious blow in the death of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. Throughout the whole reign Brandon had been at the king’s side. He had filled the role of friend, jousting companion, military commander, brother-in-law (1514–32) and leading household official. As a last personal gesture of friendship Henry ordered that Brandon’s body be interred at Windsor. The duke’s demise left a highly important vacancy at court. Since 1540 Brandon had held the most senior of the household offices, the Lord Great Mastership. There seems to have been a possibility of Dudley’s promotion to this exalted position. The appointment went to the veteran career courtier and political tactician, William Paulet, Lord St John. Did Dudley not have sufficient ‘clout’ to achieve his ambition or was he thwarted by being away from court at the crucial time when rewards were being handed out? It may be that powerful jealousies were active among the senior members of the household. Edward Seymour, in particular, would have found his own position
as Lord Great Chamberlain strongly challenged if Dudley had become Lord Great Master. Seymour must already have been recognizing in his old colleague, even if he did not acknowledge it to himself, a greater military talent than his own. May we see here the first tiny crack in the old Seymour–Dudley friendship which was to widen into such a tragic fissure? Dudley did not, however, go unrewarded. Fresh grants of land came his way and, by 1546, he was among the ten wealthiest men in England.

  Whatever he may have felt about his position in the household, Dudley had plenty to keep him occupied in the Admiralty. Plans for the new council were nearing completion. In January we find Dudley recommending Sir Thomas Clerc for the post of Lieutenant of the Admiralty and Sir William Woodhouse for that of Master of Ordnance to the king’s ships. Both appointments were duly made and the Council for Marine Causes was constituted by letters patent on 24 April following. From that date the Lord High Admiral, who had previously only functioned in time of war, was involved regularly, with his colleagues, in the administration of the navy. The importance of the new body can scarcely be overstressed. It was the most sophisticated and efficient government office for maritime affairs in the whole of Europe. It gave the royal navy both permanence and individuality. It involved the government directly in all aspects of shipbuilding and seamanship.

  One area of seamanship to which Dudley gave close and immediate attention was the art of navigation. Control of home waters was one thing but if English captains were to venture across the oceans and challenge the commercial monopolies of Spain and Portugal they needed training in the latest techniques and skills. The greatest living expert in such matters was Sebastian Cabot, Pilot Major to the emperor. The Venetian mariner, who as a young man had ventured across the Atlantic with his father, had frequently appealed in vain to Henry VIII in the early days of the reign to patronize further voyages of exploration. Eventually, he had turned his back on England and put his talents at the service of Charles V. He became head of the Spanish naval academy, the Casa da Contratacion, and compiled numerous charts from the information brought back by pioneer captains. He would be a valuable asset to any government seeking to expand its maritime commitment. Dudley and his agents made vigorous attempts to lure the veteran mariner back. The emperor’s advisers worked just as strenuously to prevent him leaving. It was only after a great deal of determined hard bargaining that Cabot arrived in London in the middle of 1548.

  In 1546 Dudley also displayed his negotiating skills in the diplomatic sphere. Henry and Francis were both broke and tired of war, yet too proud to be seen to be suing for peace. They therefore continued to make bellicose noises and visible preparations for renewed hostilities while opening up secret channels for talks. By the spring, the main burden of negotiation had fallen upon Dudley and d’Annebaut. They met for frequent discussions at the English camp at Ambleteuse, near Boulogne. But between sessions the admirals hurried back to their flagships to harry each other’s vessels and coastal installations in their efforts to improve their bargaining positions.

  It was Dudley who came out on top in the contest of bluff and counter bluff. He who had spent over twenty years building up one of the biggest landed fortunes in England was a master of the hard bargain. Even so his achievement in what was called the Treaty of Camp was quite remarkable. The French had come to the negotiations determined above all else on the return of Boulogne as the price of peace. Henry’s Council were ready to cede the point, knowing how ruinously expensive the port was to defend. The king, however, would not hear of it and Dudley’s instructions were to yield not one inch of England’s continental territory. The terms he finally agreed were that Boulogne was to remain in English hands until the French redeemed it for 2,000,000 crowns, a sum so vast that it was never likely to be forthcoming. The treaty was signed on 7 June and when news of it reached England there was universal rejoicing.

  The 12th day of June after was Whit Sunday, and then was a general procession from St Paul’s unto St Peter’s in Cornhill with all the children of St Paul’s School and a cross of every parish church with a banner . . . all the clerks, all the priests, with parsons and vicars of every church in copes . . . and the bishop bearing the sacrament under a canopy with the mayor in a gown of crimson velvet, the aldermen in scarlet, with all the crafts in their best apparel. When the mayor came between the cross and the standard there was made a proclamation with all the heralds of arms and pursuivants in their coats of arms, with the trumpets, and there was proclaimed a universal peace for ever between the Emperor, the King of England, the French king and all Christian kings for ever.9

  However, joy was not unconfined for everyone. Edward Seymour was in command of all his majesty’s forces in France in 1545–6 and might reasonably have expected to play a major role in the treaty making. Once again he was outshone by his old friend. Henry had decided that Dudley was the better man for the job and the French had made it quite clear that they preferred to do business with him. But any resentment Seymour might have guarded was not allowed to be seen. The political situation made it vital that the leading evangelicals appear completely united. At no time was this more crucial than in the summer of 1546. When Dudley returned to England in mid-June he found himself in the midst of a religious storm that threatened him and his wife.

  They belonged to a tight-knit group who were so close to the king as to appear unassailable. There was Catherine Parr, Henry’s patient nurse and the only person he would allow to change the dressings on his suppurating legs. There was Thomas Cranmer, one of the few royal servants to whom the king showed loyal friendship. There was Sir Anthony Denny, Groom of the Stool, the man who controlled access to the sovereign. More importantly, Henry entrusted into Denny’s keeping the royal dry stamp, a device which impressed the king’s signature on paper so that a clerk could go over it in ink to authenticate it. This could be a formidable tool for those who wished to guide government policy.

  Those committed to turning back the clock were almost in despair at the power of their enemies. The Duke of Norfolk, indeed, had bowed to what he considered to be the inevitable by arranging marriage alliances between his family and the Seymours. But, in March, Bishop Gardiner returned from a five-month diplomatic mission in the Netherlands and, with ‘Wily Winchester’s’ appearance the activity of the reactionaries stepped up several gears. Their overall strategy soon became clear: they would strike at known or suspected heretics who had court connections in the hope that small fish would lead them to the bigger ones.

  They set in motion a fresh round of Six Articles persecutions. Prisons rapidly filled once again with artisans, clergy and tradespeople suspected of reading forbidden books or attending heretical conventicles, and interrogators set about dragging from their victims names of coreligionists higher up the social ladder. One of those now brought to the capital for examination was a Lincolnshire gentlewoman, Anne Kyme (nee Ayscough), better known to history as Anne Askew. She was a gentlewoman born, had a brother in the king’s guard of Gentlemen Pensioners, was well known in the London evangelical underworld as a bold ‘gospeller’ and had patrons among ladies of the queen’s entourage. The conservative leadership decided that she might have valuable information to give them about suspected heretics in Catherine Parr’s circle. On 19 and 20 June she was brought before the Council to answer questions about her religious beliefs.

  It was around this time that John Dudley returned to court and he was, therefore, present for Anne’s interrogation. Since the whole Council could not spend time examining one woman, they delegated the task to a committee of three: Bishop Gardiner, William Parr, Earl of Essex (the queen’s brother) and John Dudley. It was an uncomfortable experience for the two noblemen, who sympathized with the prisoner and who understood the bishop’s agenda only too well. Anne certainly did not make things any easier for them. According to her own account, when she was pressed to consent to the Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation (that the flesh and blood of Christ are really present in the Communion service
after consecration, in the form of bread and wine) she turned the attack on her interrogators. ‘Then said I to my Lord Parr and my Lord Lisle that it was great shame for them to counsel contrary to their knowledge.’ They returned her a brief, non-committal reply, ‘in few words they did say that they would gladly all things were well.’10 The returning hero who had faced the fire of battle and brazened it out with the diplomatic opposition was circumspection itself when it came to unfurling his religious colours.

  The next few weeks were uncomfortable ones for Dudley and his family and friends. The ceremonial ratification of the treaty had yet to take place and Dudley had been ordered to Paris to lead the English delegation. There was some urgency about this because it was generally feared that when Francis I had had time to reflect on just how much his representative had yielded he might renege on the agreement. Furthermore ratification had to take place within forty days. Yet, despite the pressure Dudley was under, he remained in London. He received final instructions on 2 July but still he did not set out. Eventually the terms of the treaty had to be changed to allow for the delay.